


are you sure thats the archon yshtola and not just five white cats in a trench coat

by jonphaedrus



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ceremony of Eternal Bonding, Cunnilingus, Dream Sex, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7914826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonphaedrus/pseuds/jonphaedrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her life just would not stop being complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	are you sure thats the archon yshtola and not just five white cats in a trench coat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotReallyHere (Actuallysortahere)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actuallysortahere/gifts).



> written for a fc mate for his fake (???) yshtola wedding.

The sun shone down over the Shroud, the dappled greenery and foliage casting warm shadows over the chapel and courtyard. Before Harkas stood Y’shtola as she remembered from when they had first met: her hair hanging down with beads to frame her face, the soft white linen of her tunic. She smelled of trillium flowers and the salt of Limsa’s seas, the fresh scent of the ocean breeze.

Y’shtola held out her hand, a smile—knowing, enigmatic, her Sharlayan’s all-too-knowing look. The one that said she had found the root of the problem, that she had discovered the enigmatic truth. “We’re going to be late,” she laughed, eyes as bright as the sky and the scudding clouds above.

“Right,” Harkas’ voice sounded far away from her own ears. “I almost forgot.”

“This again?” Y’shtola’s laugh was like the gentle clinking of shells. “You’ll be the third one to be late!” She curled her fingers—beckoning, beseeching. “Come, love.”

Harkas had never yet been able to say no to Y’shtola. She reached out and took the Archon’s hand, and stepped forward after her into the chapel. It felt unreal—the building and all its fine white trappings as sturdy and steady as aether.. As they walked Y’shtola gently began to pin her veil into her hair, tucked just behind her ears. “You don’t mind that I’m not in a dress?” She asked, glancing sidelong at Harkas.

“No,” she answered truthfully. “I don’t care. I just wanted you. Here.”

“Well, Warrior of Light,” there was more than a note of teasing in her voice. “Here you have me. The question remains as to what you will _do_ with me.” Harkas could think of a great many things that she could do with Y’shtola. But first—

The doors to the inner chapel swung open. Within, their shadows were cast long by the lights behind them, and before them stood their guests. Friends, adventurers, Harkas’ fellow Warriors of light, her compatriots through times both good and ill. Her sisters in the front row, both cheering, arms linked. Then there were the Archons, faces Harkas felt an awful pang of longing in her chest when she saw. How long since she had seen Yda and Papalymo? How long since Minfilia had smiled at her, eyes gone soft at the corners? Thancred, holding Tataru on his shoulders, even looked pleased despite their disagreements in the past—they could both put it aside, because Y’shtola was happy. That was what mattered. Y’mhitra met them halfway up the aisle, taking her sisters hands, pressing their foreheads together, cheeks glowing rosy with wordless joy.

A few steps later, Reisui and Cerridwen did the same, a small cluster of horns and lashing tails and hushed, laughing whispers between the three of them until Harkas was dragged away, Y’shtola’s fingers twined in her own drawing her inexorably to the altar, where waited the rings that Harkas herself had painstakingly made, ready for their owners.

She barely remembered their vows. Harkas felt like a girl of fifteen again—blushing and raw, unable to look at Y’shtola, like she was want to blow apart in the next strong gust of wind. But she was real enough, solid enough. When they traded rings their hands and fingers brushed in affection, and the humour in her whispered words was palpable as she commented on the seeming inanity of a _moogle_ officiating their wedding, when Aymeric, head of the Holy See, was in attendance.

When all was done, Harkas found herself facing Y’shtola before the chapel. They held hands, and not for the first time, Harkas marvelled at the strength in Y’shtola’s grip, belied by her slim wrists and tapered fingers. She was so strong; stronger in many ways than Harkas herself was even for all her vaunted power. She could not even begin to hope to match Y’shtola.

“Second thoughts, Harkas?” Y’shtola cocked a brow at her.

“No,” Harkas whispered. “No, I never could. I love you more than words could say. I’m just—“

“I’m not going to spill between your fingers.” Y’shtola laughed, her smile so broad her cheeks seemed wont to hurt with it. “I’ve come this far. I intend to go the rest of the way with you as well.”

Rather than rely on words—clunky, uncompromising, never-quite-right—Harkas leaned forward and just kissed the other woman. It felt like they could have soared to the catcalling and cheers, the joy lifted them both up—a buoy in troubled waters.

Harkas hardly remembered how they went to the Goblet, for the reception, and then back to Mist alone, their entourage shed into a party behind them. Harkas’ house was quiet, the ward’s white stones stained in glowing shades of red and gold, like leaves in autumn in the light of the sunset. Before the door of her house they stopped.

Y’shtola was still picking confetti and glitter from the band of her veil.

“Here,” Harkas hardly trusted her own voice. She produced the keys to her modest home. “Since...you live here now too.”

“I shan’t say I shall miss either sleeping in the Rising Stones or in the Forgotten Knight.” Y’shtola pursed her lips. “There is much to be said for the privacy of a private home.”

“Then we should make the best of it,” Harkas blurted before she could stop herself, and it seemed her urgency was well matched, for as soon as they cleared the front door there was no time for a tour. Neither Harkas nor Y’shtola cared much fore furniture or the comforts of the plush home, the fruits of all Harkas’ travels. No—they cared far more for the soft meeting of lips and hands.

They stumbled down the stairs, laughing like schoolgirls hand-in-hand and lip-locked the whole way. Harkas opened her bedroom door with her shoulder, not even bothering to turn around to get at the handle, and so together they stumbled into her bedroom. The floor was soon littered with their clothes, shed willy-nilly in their haste. Toes sinking into the plush shag rug on the floorboards, Harkas sunk to the bed, staring up at Y’shtola above her.

In the soft light of the carbuncle lamp, Y’shtola fain _glowed,_ her hair a soft halo about her face. Her eyes were gentle and shaded by the light. She wore only her underthings, and in the diffuse light of the single lamp, she at last reached behind her back and undid the ties of her bra, letting it slide down and her breasts spill free, peaked with hard, rosy nipples.

Y’shtola climbed over Harkas on the edge of the bed, bring careful of the scales that covered her wife’s thighs. “I’ve always wondered how far these go,” Y’shtola mused as she undid the ties of Harkas’ bra, peeling it too off.

They began to kiss again, Harkas’ fingers trailing under the back of Y’shtola’s skivvies, over the soft, fleshy curve of her ass, pert in her hands. “Pretty far,” Harkas finally managed to reply, laughing. “I’d be happy to show you.” Their breasts brushed as they breathed, their bodies twining. Soon they were both naked and then tangled on the bedspread, kicking the folded blankets down and off the end of the mattress. Harkas cupped Y’shtola’s breasts even as they began to rut against one another’s thighs. Her nipples were sensitive under Harkas’ fingers, and Y’shtola gasped and moaned in pleasure, rolling onto her back.

“Oh gods,” the other woman gasped, breathless, her fair cheeks blushing down onto her neck and chest. “Harkas—“

“Let me,” she insisted. She had waited for this for so long that now—now she would take her time. Enjoy it.

And enjoy it she did. Her mouth upon Y’shtola’s nipples, massaging her breasts until she was sopping wet between her thighs. She spread her legs invitingly when Harkas slid down between them, her slim fingers knotting into the coarse strands of her wife’s hair, curling gently around the sensitive bases of her horns to drag her to her goal. When Harkas put her lips to Y’shtola’s sex, she was wet and soft and plush with arousal. Her clit, hard and raised, was sensitive and she pulled Harkas just to where she wanted her to suck, Harkas slipping two fingers inside her.

Pulling Y’shtola to orgasm was a reward in and of itself, and she bucked off of the bedspread when she got close, turning oversensitive and keening, near-crying for want of it. When Y’shtola came it was shattering, her sex clenching down so hard that Harkas was obliged to still her fingers inside the other woman and wait for the spasms to pass.

In the afterglow Harkas sat up, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand and looked up at her wife. Y’shtola was sprawled boneless and gasping against the pillows, her whole face flushed and bright with sweat. Her mouth was soft and her eyes distant with the dizziness of orgasm, her hair splayed in strands over her face and the pillow. “Let me,” Y’shtola whispered, hoarse, and Harkas was more than willing, her sex throbbing between her thighs. She leaned down, rubbing the pads of her fingers between her folds and muffling her moan in Y’shtola’s mouth.

Wakefulness stumbled upon her then slow and gentle, rousing her as if from deep water. She felt worn and heartbroken, Y’shtola falling from between her fingers like so much air.

Her room looked just as it had in her dreams. The shag carpet. The inviting blue glow of the carbuncle lamp, the burble of the bath. The residual arousal was still warm in her veins, but she would do nothing for it. In vain, she pressed the heels of her palms over her eyes and shuddered a worn-out sigh.

“Fuck,” whispered the Warrior of Light, and then again, with feeling, “ _Fuck.”_

Her life just would not stop being complicated.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> theres an alternate ending to this:
> 
> But Y’shtola, she discovered, no longer had a mouth. Instead she was...furry. Soft. Startled, muffling a shout of surprise, Harkas leaned back, landing hard on her ass on the bedspread, one elbow buckling as she stared at Y’shtola. Or, more like, what remained of Yshtola. Instead, she was now looking at five white cats, confused and purring, where her wife had been moments before, spilling out of the clothes that she was once again suddenly wearing.
> 
> One meowed and rubbed against Harkas’ knee, purring and licking her skin. “What the fuck,” Harkas whispered, startled and confused, rubbing her eyes as she realised she was dreaming, trying to drag herself into wakefulness.
> 
> Only she would have a dream about marrying five white cats in a trenchcoat.


End file.
